


it's a rough, wild world

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Crowley (Good Omens), Possessive Aziraphale (Good Omens), Size Kink, implied past sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 22:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Crowley makes a valiant attempt to keep his shit together, and fails.





	it's a rough, wild world

**Author's Note:**

> Content note: Hell is really terrible, and while Crowley doesn't consider what happened to him there to be sexual assault, it could easily be interpreted that way. Please be advised.
> 
> On a lighter note, this makes 100k words of Good Omens for me! \o/

If Crowley can just keep his shit together, everything will be fine.

The chances of Crowley keeping his shit together are pretty much nil, but that is Crowley's baseline. He likes to think that he's quite suave and unaffected at times other than this one, but that fiction is in pieces right now. He feels the pull of it with every instant, the need to sink into the earth, the sheer force of want. He can't give into it or everything is lost. He has to get help, and soon, or it's over, all of it.

He walks into the bookshop, snapping his fingers, and the door closes and bolts behind him.

"That was rather quicker than usual," Aziraphale says; he's sitting at his desk, a fragile-looking book sitting in front of him. He's got his ridiculous little reading glasses and a pair of gloves on, and he removes them both, setting them aside. He frowns at the look on Crowley's face. "What's wrong, my dear?"

"Ah, so, there are some things you need to know about Hell," Crowley says, and he steadfastly avoids walking over to Aziraphale, walking between the shelves instead, back and forth. "Important things about, say, me, and my not being forthcoming about certain demonic responsibilities."

"You're not a being of Hell anymore," Aziraphale says.

"That's kind of you, but, as usual, too kind," Crowley says. "I'm not going back to Hell, mind, done with the place entirely, but it's time to go back and get bred."

"What?!" Aziraphale says, which is the response Crowley expected. 

"Yeah," Crowley says, trying to not look at Aziraphale as he weaves in and out of the books. "Physical imperative, kind of a thing, happens every so often to any given demon, my number's up."

"Demons can't breed," Aziraphale says. "That's ridiculous."

"Where do you think we get all those poor single-use fuckers from?" Crowley says, stepping around a pile of books that would probably be the pride of a lesser shop. "You want something disposable, it's cheaper to make it in house."

"That's ghastly," Aziraphale says, and bless him, he looks nauseated.

"No, it's _Hellish_," Crowley says.

"I-" Aziraphale says; he has this look on his face like his heart is breaking and Crowley absolutely cannot look at it. "Crowley, that's- I can't believe that happened to you, I'm so dreadfully sorry."

"I'm making it sound, ah, more rapey than it was?" Crowley says, ducking behind a shelf. "It was more of a bacchanal thing."

"I don't believe you," Aziraphale says, and Crowley doesn't think he'd believe it either.

"Well, I'm the one who gets to decide what it was, since it happened to me," Crowley says, perhaps a bit snippily.

"If you can't go back to Hell, what's going to happen?" Aziraphale asks gravely.

"I really need to get fucked," Crowley says, and even saying it makes his cock twitch. "If I don't get fucked, I have no idea. I outran Hell a few times, found some mortals who can count themselves as very lucky and stayed laid up for a week."

"What humility," Aziraphale says dryly.

"I'll have you know that I am a cut of prime meat," Crowley says, annoyed. "Any right-thinking demon would have mounted me the instant I walked in the door."

"Then it's good for you that there aren't any around," Aziraphale says. "Will you _please_ stop pacing?"

"It's me pacing or me jumping you," Crowley says. "If I stop moving it's curtains for both of us."

"Then jump me," Aziraphale says plainly.

Crowley stops in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

"If, as you insist, it isn't traumatic, and you can't deal with it another way, then I'm offering to help," Aziraphale says. "I don't know why you think I would abandon you at a time like this, with you in such a state."

"Because this isn't like you, now is it?" Crowley says, back to pacing, faster this time. "You're all 'oh, dear boy, clean my coat' and 'not on the floor, Crowley, my poor back' and-"

"Crowley, stop," Aziraphale says, and something about it freezes him in his tracks. "I won't sit here and listen to you have a conniption fit over things I never said."

Something in Crowley snaps, like a beam holding too much cracking in place. "I'm in a bad way, angel," he finally says.

"Come here," Aziraphale says, standing and holding out his arms, and Crowley goes to him. He somehow manages not to rip Aziraphale's clothing off, which surprises him. "Why don't I take you to bed and see if I can help?"

"Honestly, I'd love that," Crowley says.

Moments later, they're upstairs; Crowley does away with his clothing and flops onto Aziraphale's bed. He's ready for it, stretched and wet, the way he does to himself sometimes just because it makes Aziraphale flustered. This time it's completely involuntary, his body opening up to demand something hot and thick inside of it, the thicker the better.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Crowley says, "but I need you to give me the biggest dick you've got."

"As if you've never asked that before," Aziraphale says, pushing Crowley down onto the bed.

It goes like it usually goes. Aziraphale likes him on his back, or Crowley on top of him, whatever will allow for a lot of eye contact. It's not what Crowley wants right now; Crowley wants to be on his stomach, where he doesn't have to look, doesn't need to see what's happening. Aziraphale's doing him a favor, though, so Crowley puts up with it. Aziraphale's going to make him talk about it if he protests, and he just can't do that, so he spreads his legs instead.

Aziraphale fucks him unhurriedly, long strokes of his hips, and it's alright, Crowley supposes. It's okay, it's fine, why wouldn't it be fine? Aziraphale is being polite and respectful. That's what Crowley should want. Here in this room that doesn't smell like sulphur, he should want completely normal sex that normal people have, no echo of Hell in it at all.

His entire body is crying out to be used. It's doing him no favors.

"Stop," Crowley says, when he can't handle it anymore. "Just stop."

"Tell me what you need," Aziraphale says, which makes it worse.

"I can't get off if you're so _nice_," Crowley spits.

"It hasn't stopped you before," Aziraphale says, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Not like this," Crowley says. "You can't fuck me like you respect me and you love me and you'll call in the morning. I need you to tear me up."

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale says, with steel in his tone. "Crowley, I will absolutely not disrespect you like that. If you want me to be a bit forceful, perhaps I can do that. But I will _never_ act like I hate you." He makes a noise of frustration. "Why, the very idea of someone treating you like that-"

"Please don't-" Crowley says, a sick feeling in his stomach.

"It's completely unacceptable," Aziraphale says.

"Don't do this to me, angel," Crowley whines. He can't take it, not right now, when every instinct that he has is shouting that all he's for is to get mounted and bred. They can unpack Hell and all of Crowley's hangups later, but not tonight, not until the need passes.

"Are you going to make me prove that you deserve better?" Aziraphale says.

The question gives Crowley pause. "You have my interest."

"I am going to hold you down, and I am going to take you roughly, and I am going to do it because I love you," Aziraphale says, in an intense but level tone. "I will not let you suffer through my action or inaction. You are the dearest thing in the world to me, and that fact is beyond your control."

"Oh shit," Crowley says, impressed and, impossibly, even more turned on.

"Get on your back and spread your legs," Aziraphale says. Crowley scrambles to do it, putting his hands under his thighs to hold himself open. Aziraphale's cock swells visibly; Crowley can't imagine anything sweeter than getting back inside of him as quickly as possible. He doesn't have to wait. Aziraphale pushes in hard, all at once, and Crowley feels like the breath has been knocked out of him.

"Give it to me hard, angel," Crowley says.

"Shush," Aziraphale says, leaning forward so he can put his hands on Crowley's shoulders, pinning him to the bed. Crowley can feel his weight bearing down on him, enough to keep Crowley's skinny bones trapped easily. It's exactly what he needs, unable to get away, unable to do anything but be taken.

Aziraphale doesn't hold back, fucking Crowley as hard as he's ever done it. Crowley wraps his legs around Aziraphale's waist, needing to hold on somehow, to assure that Aziraphale won't stop, won't let go until he's spent. The ugly thing inside of Crowley, the wretched need- Crowley almost feels like he's outsmarted it, because the thick force of Aziraphale inside of him scratches that itch, satisfies the part of him that wants nothing more than to be used.

"Hell is never getting you back, do you understand me?" Aziraphale says in a low, rough voice. "You belong to me. You have for six thousand years. You will never belong to anyone else again."

Crowley groans at the very thought of it, the idea that Aziraphale could just have him, that it really is done for the two of them, never to be sucked into God's fucking blindfolded chess tournament or Hell's glacial machinations ever again. There's nothing stopping them now, nothing that would keep Aziraphale from keeping his promise.

And Crowley knows that Aziraphale wants him, in a way that is unshakeable despite Crowley's efforts to shake it. Aziraphale fucks him like he's a person that has value, someone precious to be protected, and Crowley hasn't figured out how to deal with that. It wasn't that he was worthless in Hell; he was a hot commodity, something to be snatched up and gobbled greedily. But he was a piece of property, not a person. He didn't say no as much as he probably would have liked to, but it didn't matter. When it was his turn, he was up for grabs, and that was that.

He's not in Hell anymore; nothing about this is even vaguely reminiscent of it. If he says no, Aziraphale will stop. He won't even be mad, just pet Crowley's hair and ask him what's wrong. Aziraphale is doing this out of love, the pure kind that befits angels but that only Aziraphale seems to have.

"I love you," Crowley pants. "Fuck, angel, I love you so much."

"And I adore you, dearest," Aziraphale says, stroking the side of Crowley's face. Crowley turns, taking Aziraphale's thumb into his mouth and sucking. Aziraphale only takes it away so he can bend down and kiss Crowley fiercely, his teeth on Crowley's bottom lip as he keeps thrusting, heavy cock pushing deep inside of Crowley with every stroke.

Crowley loses himself in it, the sensation of being taken exactly how he wants with, improbably, love layered on top of it. It's too much, enough that he feels like he's going to burst out of his skin. It's never felt remotely like this before; it hardly even seems like the same thing as grasping claws and stinging need. It builds and builds, and Crowley can't do anything but take it in, devour greedily, until it's all he can stand.

"Are you close?" Aziraphale says breathlessly, sounding like he himself is on the brink.

"Breed me," Crowley moans. "Oh, fuck, Aziraphale, come in me, fill me up."

Aziraphale makes a noise that sounds bewildered more than anything else, but Crowley feels his cock pulsing. Crowley groans, going over with him, striping both of them with come. There's no sensation that indicates whether the breeding took or not, but Crowley's going to keep asking for it until the heat subsides, following the command placed in him to- ha!- go forth and multiply.

Aziraphale finally rolls off him, and Crowley follows, curling up next to him. Crowley has the oddest nagging sensation that something is amiss, but he feels so fucked out that he can't examine it all that closely. 

"I hope you're not under the impression that I actually impregnated you," Aziraphale says delicately, after a bit of afterglow.

"What?" Crowley says, frowning in confusion.

"I don't even think it's physically possible," Aziraphale says, "but even so, I assured that-" He makes a weird motion with his hands- "nothing exited, as it were."

"Why wouldn't you want to breed me?" Crowley asks, honestly feeling a bit betrayed.

"Crowley, what on _Earth_ would we do with a half-celestial half-demon?" Aziraphale asks, a little exasperated, and Crowley refrains from pointing out they come in litters. "And even if I did want one, what kind of monster would I be if I did that to you based on what you asked me while you were in an altered mental state, having never brought it up before, not one time in six thousand years?"

Crowley shuts his eyes, unable to process all of that statement. "For once I'm better off leaving the thinking to you."

"If one day you thought it was what you really wanted, we'd discuss it," Aziraphale says, running a hand over Crowley's hair. "But I'm not here to use you and leave you with the consequences."

"You're something else, angel," Crowley says, saying it lightly even though that's not how he means it.

"I'm yours, dear," Aziraphale says, and he kisses Crowley's forehead. Crowley puts an arm around his waist, holding him close. It's going to come back, the desire, the feeling of twisted want, but by now, Crowley's not afraid.


End file.
